How are you marking the 15th anniversary of 9/11?

How are you marking the 15th anniversary of 9/11?

On the 15th anniversary of the attacks of Sept. 11, 2001, we offer here a selection of articles and multimedia features on that day and its aftermath. To add your own memories of 9/11, write a comment in the response boxes below.

Father Judge walked into the World Trade Center on Sept. 11 to perform last rites and he never walked out. He is considered the first casualty of the attacks. Mr. Spade, who passed Father Judge in the lobby of One W.T.C., remembers: “There was no talking to him that day…. He was pale, saying the rosary in his pocket.”

One World Trade Center had an impossible task: to stand tall and yet remain humble, to represent all that was lost and reclaimed after Sept. 11. It does this by reflecting everything around it in its facade, which looks like a single sheet of glass from a distance but is actually composed of thousands of window units. Utterly unadorned, the tower appears minimal, but it is not. It changes constantly, assuming over the course of a day every shade of blue, insisting on the present, unrepeatable moment. Much like the city, the building’s truest identity is found in its capacity to absorb, change and endure.

I always began by asking family members if I could get them water, food or a blanket. Enough had been stockpiled to withstand a siege. Usually I asked who was missing. That’s when I learned that New York City cops grow in families. For almost every cop missing, there was another here with the family: a sister, a brother-in-law.

As a member of the generation brought up in the dark aftermath of the terrorist attacks of Sept. 11, 2001, I can point to several ways in which the social environment of my childhood played a central role in the formation of my current worldview. As the son of a first responder, for instance, I will forever have the deepest gratitude for the heroes in uniform who risk and sometimes sacrifice their lives to keep my community safe.

Two of the happiest years of my life were spent as a stay-at-home dad when our son, Isaiah, was a toddler. The morning of Sept. 11, 2001, began like most of our days with a meandering walk around our neighborhood after breakfast, stopping whenever we met something of interest: a slug wending its silvery path across the sidewalk; a handful of pebbles to throw, one by one, into the street; a neighbor planting flowers along her driveway.

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